


What the Shadows Hide

by TheBookishFeminist



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookishFeminist/pseuds/TheBookishFeminist
Summary: Summary: Geralt is called to a faraway Queendom to rid the land of a dangerous Dark Mage. Traveling with the Queen's emissary, a woman as alluring as she is mysterious, the Witcher grows more and more suspicious as something about her tale just doesn't add up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	What the Shadows Hide

The Witcher had been reluctant to accept the mission in the first place.   
When word reached him that Queen Verlaine of Skarven requested his aid in capturing an escaped prisoner, a dangerous Dark Mage that terrorized her Queendom and whose initial capture had cost her dearly, his first instinct had been to refuse. Verlaine's reputation reached far beyond her borders, painting her as a cruel, cold-blooded ruler who honored treaties only as long as they suited her and whose numerous enemies regularly met particularly gruesome ends.   
Despite his doubts, he'd agreed to meet with Verlaine's emissary at a tavern in the village he was currently staying at to hear her tale. Geralt had arrived an hour early to secure a nook in the back from which he could watch the room unseen. He wanted to get an impression of this messenger, one not clouded by their attempts to sway him.   
He recognized her the moment she walked through the door.   
The Queen's emissary was a tall woman clad in black from head to toe, her features hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. And assortment of knives was strapped to her belt and thighs, blades glinting in the flickering candlelight as she cast a searching look around the dim interior. Finally, she sat at one of the tables, waving away the barmaid that had wandered over to take her order.   
Geralt was just about to make himself known when one of the braver patrons approached her.   
"Ho, fair lady!" the man, clearly well in his cups, exclaimed with a mocking sneer, "They say you're all the way from Skarven. Run away from that bitch Queen, did you? Good for you, little girl, leave that rotten nest of vipers to-" The man's voice cut off with a gurgle as a small but deadly throwing knife embedded itself in his throat. Every eye in the tavern was fixed on the woman when she stood and, with an almost leisurely gait, walked over to the corpse to retrieve her knife, wiping the blade clean on the dead man's tunic. Her features remained hidden by the hood even as she faced the room.   
"Does anybody else wish to sully my Queen's name? Insult my home?" the silence was deafening, so thick you could have cut it. Geralt, hand on his sword, had been watching the interaction with detached curiosity. He'd briefly debated stepping in, but if the man was fool enough to challenge one of Verlaine's famed knights then, frankly, he had it coming. Besides, the villagers hadn't welcomed the Witcher any more warmly than they did this woman and he felt less than inclined to come to their aid. He sat back, waiting to see how the scene would play out.   
"You ignorant fools. You know nothing of my home. Of the horrors haunting us. Children are dying, snatched from their cradles to sate the witch's wicked appetites, every man and woman who tries to hunt her is killed so brutally not even their mothers would recognize them." her chest was heaving with emotion, her grip on the knife white-knuckled. Many of the patrons had paled, one or two inching their way to the door, no doubt eager to escape and set the soldiers on her. When she sheathed her weapon, a collective exhale of relief went through the crowd and, once she sat down again, tentative chatter picked up.   
"Saw what you came to see, Witcher?" she asked quietly, pulling a low chuckle from Geralt. She was a sharp observer.   
Unhurriedly, he rose, tossing a handful of coins on the table before he walked towards the door. "Follow me, and find out. Unless you'd rather go with the soldiers that will be here any minute." he murmured as he passed her. Without a backward glance, he walked outside, turning his steps towards the stables where he'd left Roach.   
He had to admire her stealth. One minute he strode along the dirt path alone, the next she was by his side as though she'd materialized from the shadows, her soundless steps effortlessly keeping pace with his.   
"You're going to help us." A statement, not a question. Her voice was rich and dark, the faintest trace of an accent he couldn't place lending it a soft, melodious cadence.   
Without slowing, Geralt chanced a closer look at her. She must have caught the movement, for she turned her head in his direction, slowly pulling back the hood to reveal her features for his scrutiny. Her sharp cheekbones and full lips would have made her stunning, a beauty even - if it hadn't been for the scars. A long, jagged line ran the length of her left cheek, splitting her brow, continuing upwards until it disappeared beneath her hairline. Smaller scars crisscrossed her forehead and right cheek in a seemingly random pattern of lines and sworls that spoke of deliberate disfigurement rather than injuries sustained in a fight.   
The Witcher had seen many ritual markings and methods of torture in his days but never anything quite like this.   
It was then that his eye caught hers, drawing an involuntary gasp of surprise from him. They were of a color he had never before encountered, a pale silver that swirled and shimmered in the bright midday sun. Magic, he thought, and strong..   
"Your eyes, they're-." he blurted, immediately chiding himself for the uncharacteristic outburst, knowing from experience how it felt to be gawked at like a freak. "That was insensible, forgive-" Her scoff cut him off mid-apology. "Don't fret, Witcher, no offense was taken. I perceive the world in…different ways. She saw to that." Bitterness colored her tone, one hand unconsciously touching her face before it dropped halfway.   
"She being the sorceress that's terrorizing your country, I assume. You've faced her then. Lived to tell the tale where others didn't." His tone was flat but she picked up on the underlying suspicion. In one fluid motion, too fast for even him to track, she was in front of him, those otherworldly eyes boring into his, silver clashing with gold as she fixed him with a hard look.   
"I have fought her, yes. I have stood in the face of her wrath and I have paid dearly for it. This?" she gestured at her face, "This is nothing, a mere trifle compared to what she did to me. What she took from me. Don't you dare imply I got off easy. Don't you dare judge what you cannot understand." Her whole frame was taut with emotion as she squared up to him. "Now, will you help us or not?"  
Almost against his will, Geralt found himself impressed by this woman's determination. Even before her passionate outburst he'd decided he would take the mission, not because he felt any loyalty towards Queen Verlaine, or even pity with her people, but because his curiosity was piqued. Something in this tale didn't add up, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on it. A Dark Mage so powerful an entire army couldn't subdue her? Why didn't Verlaine seek aid from the Chapter of Wizards? Why hire a Witcher, killer of monsters? Something was off and he intended to get to the bottom of the matter. That didn't mean he would make it easy for her.   
"What's in it for me? Do you have a name?" he tacked on belatedly, realizing the woman had never introduced herself. Suspicious.   
Waving an impatient hand, she resumed walking, waiting for him to fall into step until she spoke. "You will receive whichever payment you desire. Skarven boasts a treasury envied by many. And you may call me… Ilene." Geralt didn't need his keen hearing to pick up on the beat of hesitation, slight but noticeable. So she didn't want him to know her real name. Another piece in the puzzle. He'd solve it, in time. He always did.   
The business part settled, they made their way to the stables in silence and, once the horses were ready, they hastily rode out of the village proper, eager to avoid confrontation with the soldiers sent after Ilene.   
They set a hard pace throughout the day, stopping only when the the dark of night made any further progress impossible.   
As they set up camp, he watched her with a keen eye. Indeed, she seemed to have no trouble navigating her surroundings, erecting a makeshift shelter, tending to her horse with a gentle care that earned her more points in her favor than any additional coin to his fee ever could. To Geralt, the way people treated animals told a great deal about them and the tenderness with which she wiped down and brushed the glossy black coat of her stallion while murmuring softly made him feel an unexpected warmth he quickly shut down. He knew nothing about this woman after all and it wouldn't do to assume any kinship just because she cared for her horse. And yet, as he watched her, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps here was an opportunity to suss out some more information about his mysterious guide.   
Making sure to tread heavily so as not to startle her, he strode closer to where she stood, her back to him as she checked the stallion's hooves.   
"Beautiful creature." Geralt said, stopping a few paces behind her.   
Ilene continued her ministrations without turning around. "You don't have to tromp around like a rampaging basilisk, Witcher. I may not see the world as you do but I'm not deaf." her rebuke was softened by a chuckle as she straightened from her crouch to face him, one hand resting on the horse's neck. "Aye, he is. If you're referring to the horse, that is." she quipped with a wink before she continued, making his lips twitch as he fought an involuntary grin. "His name is Mael. I've raised him from a foal. The mare died birthing him and I slept in the stables for months. My mother was furious and my sister mocked me relentlessly for smelling like horse but I didn't care. He's been with me ever since."   
The obvious love in her voice pulled a rare genuine smile from him. Cautiously, he walked closer and, after waiting for her nod of permission, he ran his hand over the animal's back with a tenderness few thought him capable of. "Always preferred the company of my horse to that of other people. I understand." he said quietly, his eyes trailing to hers, the faint metallic gleam even more pronounced under the full moon that hung above their camp. Despite her condition, whatever magic had taken over her sight clearly allowed her to read his expression for she relaxed slightly, returning his smile with one of her own. "A feeling I'm sure is mutual. I noticed the way these villagers were treating you. No warm welcome for a Witcher, I imagine." Her astute observation surprised him even as it confirmed several of his suspicions. "You've been watching me. Not just at the tavern." Her nod was unashamed. "I had to make sure you were the right man for the mission. Get a feel for who you are. Since you did the same, I won't apologize." she said, patting the horse's neck a final time before she packed up his brush and the device she'd used to clean his hooves, a sort of hooked stick that removed small stones and the debris collected on badly paved roads. Geralt made a mental note to ask her about that one later.   
Once she was finished, she carried her small pack to where she'd set up her bed roll. To his surprise, the horse followed, settling in to graze next to her as she sat down. The Witcher moved his own bedstead a fraction closer under the guise of seeking warmth from their small campfire.   
"Tell me more about this Mage I'm supposed to hunt. Verlaine's message was rather cryptic." He didn't imagine the way Ilene tensed at the mention of her queen but she nodded. "Fair enough. You will need to know what you're up against." She pulled a waterskin out of her satchel and took a long draught before she offered it to Geralt who accepted the drink with a silent nod of thanks. She continued.   
"To understand what you will face, allow me to tell you a tale, Witcher." her voice had taken on a sing-song cadence, the lilting melody of her accent more pronounced as she slipped into the role of storyteller. It made Geralt think of Jaskier, off on his own adventure, and with a pang he realized just how much he missed his friend.   
Ilene's voice brought him back to the moment. "Many, many moons ago, when Skarven was nought but an insignificant speck on the map, Verlaine's mother sat the throne. She was a harsh woman, stern and ruthless, and she was slowly building the country up from the ruins her own father had left it in. Queen Elanthe had two daughters, Verlaine, the youngest, and Cyrene, who one day would inherit the throne. Elanthe raised her children as she ruled the country, with an iron fist and a cruel tongue, thinking to harden the girls for a life of politics. While Verlaine took to her mother's tutoring with exceptional skill, Cyrene was a quiet girl, studious and kind, a lover of animals and poetry a combination her lady mother frowned upon and tried her hardest to break her of. She forced the princess through countless lessons of statecraft with a particular focus om warfare, had her trained in combat both armed and unarmed - all to no avail. While it shaped the princess into a capable woman, it did nothing to cure her of her gentle, peaceful nature.   
Elanthe came from a long line of sorceresses and when the Gift manifested in her daughters, she searched far and wide for a tutor worthy of their royal charge.   
It was a dark, stormy night when a visitor knocked on the palace gates, a woman, beautiful and proud, untouched by the gale, not so much as a single drop of rain marring her fine tunic. The woman was a mage of great power and Elanthe knew she'd found the right teacher for her daughters. For almost a year, the woman, Thelassa, tutored the princesses, furthering Verlaine's growing talents for dark magic even as Cyrene proved the more versatile of the two. All the while, the mage cultivated her friendship with Elanthe, worming her way into the Queen's cold heart, biding her time until the eve of princess Cyrene's name day, the one that would see her come of age and thus establish the official claim to Skarven's throne.   
If you ask a dozen citizens what transpired that night, you will receive a dozen different answers, Witcher, for no one who was there lived to tell the tale. The only truth shared by everyone was this: On the eve of Cyrene's feast, Thelassa snuck into the Royal Wing, slaughtered Elanthe in her bed with a spell dripping magic so dark it is said to linger still. She then made her way to the girl's chambers. Verlaine, ever a sharp girl, must have sensed a commotion for she fled through a secret passage, leaving her sister to the witches' wrath. Thelassa reached the heiress' chamber, but her progress had alerted the guards. They burst in, interrupting whatever foul magic she was weaving. Instead of killing the princess as she'd undoubtedly planned, she snatched her from her bed and fled the palace under cover of another storm, one she must have conjured herself.   
The knights hunted her day and night without mercy and, finally, the sorceress grew careless enough to be captured while seeking shelter in a temple. Verlaine herself led the party as they raided the building, her magic by then a match even for Thelassa and together they managed to subdue and bind her, locking her into a cell sealed by powerful spells to await her fate.   
What should have been a triumph quickly turned into another tragedy as Verlaine searched the temple for her sister. The mage, in one final act of destruction, had brought the roof down over the altar, the heavy marble crushing the princess who had been chained to one of the pillars, her body so broken it was barely recognizable had it not been for a medallion of Skarven's Royal crest which Cyrene never took off." Ilene's fingers strayed to her bare throat in an unconscious gesture as she continued her tale.   
"And so, within the span of days, Verlaine lost her entire family and gained a throne, along with the reputation of capturing the most dangerous dark mage her Queendom had ever seen. She had Thelassa locked up, subjected her to tortures unimaginable as her own magic grew yet keeping her alive as a testament to her own power and as an example of what happened to the enemies of the crown.   
Ambitious and ruthless, Verlaine quickly grew into her new role and continued her mother's work to build Skarven into a powerful realm, prosperous even as its citizens suffered under her merciless rule.   
Years went by and Thelassa continued to languish in her dungeon until that fateful day six moons ago.   
All it took was a new guard, a young lad foolish enough to think one lone woman couldn't possibly pose as much of a threat as his comrades claimed. Instead of pushing her tray of barely edible slop through a hatch in her cage, he'd unlocked the door to get a look at this famed prisoner. It was the last mistake he ever made.   
The instant the lock sprung open, every enchantment holding her broke and Thelassa was freed. She left the boy insensible on the dirty straw of her cell, likely too weak to actually kill him, found her way outside through a set of underground tunnels and made her escape, not before snatching one of the royal horses from the stables. Verlaine took care of the guard later, punishing his youthful folly with a blade through his heart." Ilene's voice was rough with some emotion, her eyes far away before she picked up the story again.   
"Since then, the mage plagues our lands, seeking revenge, killing knights and innocents alike and no matter what Verlaine sends against her, nothing stands a chance.   
And thus you come into the picture, Witcher, her last hope of ridding the Queendom of evil." Ilene concluded, her tone almost a sneer as she laid out her queen's proposal.   
Geralt had been caught up in the tale, cataloging every detail that might aid him later on, his mind whirring, trying to make sense of all she had just told him. It took him a moment to return to the present, to a camp in the woods rather than a dank cell in a remote land.   
Slowly, he lifted his head to look at Ilene. He had expected her expression to be hopeful, pleading even, but he wasn't prepared for the intensity of her gaze. Those eyes bore into his with unwavering focus and palpable desperation, trying to convey something, telling him another story, one that was important, vital even, something she clearly couldn't express with words, begging him to figure it out. Geralt's brow wrinkled as he tried to decipher her silent message, yet, try as he might, he couldn't make sense of it. Yet.   
After a long moment, Ilene finally cast down her eyes with an air of defeat, breaking the spell. The woman heaved heavy sigh and sank down onto her bed roll.   
"You wanted to know and now you do. We should get some rest. Make an early start tomorrow and we can reach Skarven by nightfall." She arranged a thin blanket over her form and turned on her side, facing Mael rather than him, the belt holding her knives within easy reach.   
"Good night, Witcher." came her voice from the dark, a faint note of her earlier frustration still coloring her tone.   
"Geralt. Call me Geralt." he said quietly, watching as her body tensed for a moment in evident surprise before she relaxed again. When she spoke this time, it was a soft murmur, the way her accent caressed his name sending a tingle through him.   
"Sleep well, Geralt. May all the answers you seek come to you." With these cryptic words she shifted, burrowing further under the cover until she lay still.   
He watched her back as, slowly, her breathing evened, leaving him wide awake to puzzle over the mystery she had just presented him with.   
The Witcher had a feeling it would be a long night.


End file.
